


Pequeno gênio

by backfourteen



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, becoming Scousers, loads of different languages, our resident brazilians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:54:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backfourteen/pseuds/backfourteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don’t get him wrong, Phil is really starting to understand what people say to him in English. Kloppo only speaks in English and Phil feels like he gets it most of the time. Lucas hardly translates to Portuguese unless Phil is struggling or if people are giving Phil cheek.<br/>But Firmino can speak English well as fuck. <i>And</i> German. </p><p>“<i>Você fala inglês bem como o caralho. E alemão</i>.”</p><p>“<i>Obrigado</i>, mate. My German is not so good anymore. Kloppo says I am, erm, <i>rostig</i>? Rusty?”</p><p>“<i>Oxidado</i>? Like the red?” </p><p>“Yes! But I say I don’t know this word in English, like how I am rusting. And he laughed and said go to language lesson.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pequeno gênio

**Author's Note:**

> This work is indeed in English. The title is Portuguese for "little genius." All Portuguese and German that is not explained via context will be translated in the end notes. 
> 
> This story takes place in a cute slightly alternate universe in which Firmino is so good at English after spending only a few months in England and Coutinho, who is going on his third year in England and still cannot speak English very well, doesn't know how to feel about it. 
> 
> I love these two so much.
> 
> Also thanks for reading my first ever work on here. If you're reading this and you're a part of the footy fandom, I'm sure I was inspired by you, so thank you.

Phil isn’t one for jealousy or hate. He’s a hard worker – quiet at times, but ever-present, humble and simple, kind. He is very aware that footballers have good days and bad days, and is aware that moments of magic ( _his_ moments of magic, he _is_ the _pequeno mágico_ ) are special and sporadic. 

There are no moments of magic to be had in these English lessons Phil has to take with Firmino. Firmino has only been with Liverpool for a few months and he is already speaking passable English, whereas Phil has been around for nearly three years and freezes up even in a short video for the team website. And even that short video took several takes before Phil stopped shrugging his shoulders inwardly, stopped rubbing his face self-consciously, stopped saying with a blush and squinty smile, “ _Merda…eu posso tenter novamente_? I, erm, try again?” 

Don’t get him wrong, Phil is really starting to understand what people say to him in English. Kloppo only speaks in English and Phil feels like he gets it most of the time. Lucas hardly translates to Portuguese unless Phil is struggling or if people are giving Phil cheek.  
But Firmino can speak English well as fuck. _And_ German. 

“ _Você fala inglês bem como o caralho. E alemão_.” 

“ _Obrigado_ , mate. My German is not so good anymore. Kloppo says I am, erm, _rostig_? Rusty?”

“ _Oxidado_? Like the red?” 

“Yes! But I say I don’t know this word in English, like how I am rusting. And he laughs and says go to language lesson.” 

Phil laughs uneasily as Firmino sits across from him at the table, patting his hand cheerfully.

“You are always nervous about this. You are better than you think. _Pequeno gênio_!” 

Phil misses Brazil in this moment. But he never misses how Inter and Espanyol shrunk him and let him drown in quick Italian and Spanish. Liverpool have allowed him all the time in the world – not that they haven’t pushed him and forced him into lessons, they certainly have – and he is included and spoken to in a way he can understand. He feels both loved and underachieving. 

“ _Obrigado_ , mate.” 

They give each other wide smiles and Firmino’s face lights up with an idea. 

“Describe to me the City match. In English. If it sounds good we will go from class. Leave and go have fun.”

Phil smirks and taps his fingers on the table in the Melwood office space, unable to meet Firmino’s scheming gaze across from him, unable to assure his friend that he could form a full, quality sentence. Phil nods and takes a long sip from his water bottle. Water spills down his light grey sweatshirt and he wipes it away, irritated. 

“Fucking shit.”

Firmino hops up and slams his hands on the desk, frightening Phil into spilling nearly half the remaining water into his lap. 

“ _Sim! Sim, puta que pariu_! That is English! You are Scouser.” 

_Scouser_ rolls around in Firmino’s mouth, comes out more like _Schkoo-zaire_ and Phil whispers it to himself with a smile. 

“Sounds English, is _português_ with accent. My accent is, erm, _forte_. Very much.”

“Well, your ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ are good.”

They both laugh again and Phil finally feels slightly at ease. He clears his throat and sits up straight as if he is being properly interviewed, and Firmino does the same, mirroring Phil with a smile pulling at his lips. 

“So, _Senhor_ Coutinho, please tell about the match against City last weekend.”

“Erm, I am having score in minute twenty-three. Firmino assist.”

“And Firmino scores after, yes? Assisted by?”

“ _Sim_ , erm, yes, Firmino assisted by me, and is a _belo_ goal. Beauty.”

Firmino takes the interviewer game to a new level and holds an imaginary microphone up to Phil, and Phil swats at Firmino’s outstretched arm. Firmino holds steadfast and glares at Phil with unwavering commitment. 

“So, Phil, what is the final score of this match?”

“Liverpool, we win four-one. Klopp is happy, Liverpool is happy.”

“Your English is very good!”

“ _Obrigado_ , mate.”

Firmino leaps out of his chair again, practically devouring his imaginary microphone.

“Do you hear this, people? Coutinho is English, a Scouser! He learns to say ‘mate’!” 

Coutinho looks up at Firmino softly with appreciation but gives a little warning grimace, and Firmino sits down and apologizes. 

“I am only excited for you. _Pequeno gênio_.” 

Coutinho smiles and shuts his eyes briefly, opening them to see Firmino throwing his things back into his gym bag and tucking his chair under the table.

“We are leaving, remember? _Wir gehen_.”

And Coutinho punches him playfully in the arm as they sneak out of the room, because why the fuck can Firmino speak German too?

 

 

As the next few months go on and the frigid English winter passes through and confines Phil to his home whenever he is not at training, all of his teammates comment on the improvement of his English. One particularly miserable Sunday he has Firmino, Moreno, Lucas, Adam, Jordan, and Teixeira over and everyone brings food and booze. Adam and Jordan are laughing when they walk in Phil’s front door, nearly dropping their beer as they double over at the sight of Phil’s confused expression. 

“Mate, maaaaate, your text had us silly.”

“That’s the Queen’s English, that. ‘Hello friends! I would like you to come to my house on Sunday to spend time together.’ Lot more posh than ‘Hey mate, come to mine?’”

Phil blushes and itches behind his ear as Jordan and Adam pick themselves and their belongings up off the floor. They assure him they are only giving him stick and he knows, he loves them, but something about it still makes him itch. It's a sensitive subject. Firmino nudges him gently as Phil lets him in the apartment, the rest of the men in the living room chatting raucously about whatever match is on the telly and who spilled beer on the carpet. 

“You use Google Translate for your texting?”

Firmino asks with a grin and Phil squirms past him into the kitchen without a response. Firmino follows him and ruffles his hair, hugging him around the neck and kissing his hair firmly. 

“Is a joke. You are getting so good at English. Say something to me.”

“Erm, do you want a beer? _Cerveja_?”

Phil dramatically draws out _cerveja_ and Lucas and Teixeira yell _yes! Cerveja!_ from the living room. 

“Everyone is proud.”

Phil thanks him quietly and opens a beer, hands it to Firmino. Firmino leans heavily on the counter behind him and drinks down half the bottle in one go. He shimmies out of his winter coat and brushes some of the snow out of his hair. 

“The snow is not for me. The cold is not for me. Neymar says he will not come for visit.”

At this, Firmino cackles and claps his hands together.

“Neymar does not know any cold, ever. He is your best friend and he will never come.”

Phil looks down at Firmino’s winter coat lying on the kitchen floor and back up at Firmino, who seems worried that he said something to upset Phil. Phil reaches toward Firmino’s closest arm and squeezes his forearm. 

“You are my best friend.”

They stay like this for a few seconds until Phil lets go of Firmino’s arm. Firmino looks a little serious but still soft and friendly around the eyes. 

“You are mine, too.”

Phil leads Firmino out into the living room, where Moreno has convinced everyone to chug each time the commentators mention during this Porto match that Iker Casillas used to play for Real, and all the beers on the table are running quite dry. Hardly any time passes and everyone is a little glassy-eyed, slumping lazily into Phil’s couches and armchairs. Adam is the first to snap up and suggest that everyone learn a little bit of everyone’s languages in the room, and this is a very popular idea. 

“What should we all say?”

Teixeira looks at Lucas with a sloppy smile and says sheepishly, “How do you talk to a girl? Like, erm, how do you say you want to be with her?”

Everyone snickers but no one objects, and Jordan elects to go first, sounding rather dad-like. 

“You’re having a bit of trouble nicking girls round here then? Chat her up right, use my method. Just walk right up and say ‘alright then?’ And you’re well cute so you’ll pull.”

Teixeira grins and gets a few pats on the back, and Firmino edges forward next.

“Okay, okay. _Não consegui sair daqui antes de falar com você_. Erm, _você é linda_. And if it is working, _qual é o seu número_?”

“I caught the number part, what’s your number, very cool, fucking boss. What’s the rest of it mean?”

Jordan and Adam sit enraptured by Firmino as Phil, Lucas, and Teixeira snicker to themselves. Phil cuts in.

“It means, erm - I do not leave here and not speak to you, you are beautiful, _sim_?”

Firmino nods and warmth spreads over Phil’s face, proud and drunk. 

“I cannot leave without speaking to you, it means. Very romantic.”

They all agree and Phil misses Moreno’s addition to the substantial conversation because he is taking empty bottles to the kitchen. He almost stumbles over Firmino’s coat but it makes him smile. He feels so warm in his Liverpool tracksuit and he attempts to strip out of the top but finds himself stuck, confused, and tightly zipped in. 

“ _Parar, idiota bêbado_. I will help.”

Phil sees the light of the kitchen again as Firmino unzips the top and slips it off Phil, who pushes lightly at Firmino’s chest as he stumbles forward.

“I am not a drunk idiot.” 

“You stumbled.”

“It is your coat on the ground.”

Firmino winks and hands Phil an opened beer, grabbing Phil by the arm as he walks out of the kitchen.

“Do you think about dating other girls?”

Phil tenses and doesn’t immediately look toward Firmino.

“Why? Aine left soon. Erm, soon to now. Not long before...now.”

Phil curses himself for losing the words and gently pulls away from Firmino. Phil feels himself getting flustered and begins to walk away, and Firmino grabs him again. 

“We can talk about this. I want you to be happy.”

“I find a girl and say, _não consegui sair daqui antes de falar com vôce. Vôce é linda. Qual é o seu número_? Yes? Like you said? Not so easy.”

Phil’s tone hovers between teasing and biting, and Firmino wraps his arm around his neck again. Phil lets himself be dragged into a half-hug that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Firmino looks down at Phil.

“You are – what did Jordan say – well cute so you can pull.” 

They both laugh and Firmino squeezes him a bit more before letting go. 

 

 

 

The next training session they have, Steven is there. Everyone is in great spirits with the old captain around, especially the English internationals and Phil, who cannot wait to show off his English skills to Mr. England himself. 

“Hiya, Phil. Still magic?”

That high-pitched lilting voice makes Phil glow and he responds enthusiastically as Steven’s heavy hand rests on his shoulder. 

“Yes, and I am learning English with Firmino.”

Steven’s eyebrows shoot up and he grins wide and genuine. His breath comes out in visible clouds.

“That’s, well, that’s fucking ace, Phil. I bet none of these tits can be arsed to even try Portuguese, eh? Phil. You against Man City? Boss. Fucking boss.” 

Phil laughs as Steven walks away and watches with glowing affection as Steven introduces himself to Firmino and they seem to hit it off instantly. Kloppo gives a lengthy talk about what Steven’s doing there and Lucas has to explain to Phil that the MLS season is from March to November and Steven will be hanging around a bit for training during his break. Phil gets it but doesn’t understand why he would leave California to come to this godforsaken arctic tundra. 

Despite the cold, training goes stunningly well and Phil earns a good hug from Kloppo as the boys go inside to shower. 

“Oi Gerrard! Glad to have you back, mate.”

Sturridge barks and everyone agrees with a raucous cry that bounces off the walls for seconds after. Ibe grips Phil’s shoulders and congratulates him on a job well done and Firmino comes up right after and does the same. Phil turns around to see Firmino in nothing but a towel, hair flopped to one side heavily with water, apologetic look on his face. Phil gets closer and asks what the matter is, but Firmino lowers his voice. 

“ _Sinto muito, Phil. Sinto muito_.”

Firmino is sorry but Phil does not know for what. 

“ _Sobre o que eu disse sobre o namoro. Sobre Aine_.”

“It’s okay. Do not worry.”

“ _Se você ainda está triste, eu preciso de você para me dizer, Phil_.”

“Why do you speak quiet in _português_? Speak English.”

Phil teases, but Firmino stays serious.

“I want you to understand me.”

Steven wishes everyone a good night and while walking by Phil and Firmino, he claps them both on the back and says he’ll text Firmino about going out tonight. 

“Stevie loves you already.”

Firmino's eyes get wide and proud and they both go to change. Firmino says something as he and Phil walk out of the dressing room and into the parking lot but Phil doesn’t catch it. It’s not very late but it’s frighteningly dark and the pavement is slick and snowy. The two of them stay instinctively close together.

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I miss Brazil.’ I want to go home soon.”

They reach Phil’s car and Firmino leans up against the trunk, sinking into the back of the car with all his tall, lank weight. 

“It is sad, Phil, because when you cannot talk – speak, could not speak English, your Portuguese feels like Brazil. Like home. And when coach will say something to me in German, it feels good too.”

“My English still is not good.”

Firmino laughs mirthlessly and it makes Phil shiver. He is already shivering but it makes it worse. 

“We have each other to be home now. Did you have that before, in Inter or Espanyol? When I heard Portuguese in Germany I was crying. This is how I feel when I hear you.”

“I think that. I am, I feel alone. Aine was speaking Portuguese at home before.”

Firmino reaches out and tucks Phil into him, their thick coats squishing firmly together, their sniffling from the cold in tandem as Phil once again allows himself to be smushed into Firmino. 

Firmino ducks down and kisses Phil on the forehead, then on his hair, and then on the juncture of his jaw and neck, his skin salty and unwashed. Phil closes his eyes and lets this happen, lets Firmino nurse him and comfort him. Phil’s grip on Firmino’s jacket grows tighter. 

“ _Você sabe_ , Phil - you know, _I_ can speak Portuguese to you at home, too.”

Phil laughs breathlessly and hisses as Firmino bites down on his cold earlobe, his warm breath in Phil’s ear and the press of his gloved hands on Phil’s shoulders. Phil grins and presses his forehead to Firmino’s, unlocking his car with the hand that isn’t busy gripping Firmino’s hair and keeping their heads together. At a small tug of his hair, Firmino grins like mad.

“German too?”

**Author's Note:**

> Você fala inglês bem como o caralho. E alemão - You speak English well as fuck. And German
> 
> Obrigado - Thank you
> 
> Sim, puta que pariu - Yes, fucking hell
> 
> Wir gehen - We are going 
> 
> Sobre o que eu disse sobre o namoro. Sobre Aine - About what I said about dating. About Aine
> 
> Se você ainda está triste, eu preciso de você para me dizer - If you are still sad, I need you to tell me
> 
> Você sabe - You know


End file.
